


your skin, your bones

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BDSM, D/s, M/M, Service Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:46:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave changes the moment the ropes touch his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your skin, your bones

Dave changes the moment the ropes touch his skin. An entire index of posturing and gestures falls away; an alphabet with the consonants weeded out, leaving only long ohs and ahs, and soft sibilant esses. His eyes are limned with fear, and something softer, something like hope. He looks for all the world like an animal needing to be gentled.

You finish tying his wrists to the concupiscent platform’s head-board, then let your hands trail down the corrugated bone of his chest, his sides, his thighs. His human bulge is laid out across one of them, pink and tender and not yet hard. You take care not to touch it, pressing his hips back into the softness of his sheets when they twitch. “Shh.” The sound skitters through the silence of the room like ice cubes falling into a glass, like the strange dry sound of wind through grass: shh, shh. He opens his mouth as if to say something. Shuts it again. Tremulously closes his eyes. 

What you’ve come to understand about Dave is that he was forced to grow up fast and grow up sharp, to protect the gentle scared things that you’ve always suspected lay dormant inside him. You’ve glimpsed them in his shy smiles and bird-like posture, but now they are truly stirring: the way his head gently tips back, and his hands stretch to test the rope around his wrists, the way you can feel his breath shudder like a living thing in his chest when he doesn’t feel any give. It’s all terrifyingly intimate, and for a moment you want to safeword and pull out of this mess before you do something wrong and take advantage of Dave’s vulnerability.

You could really hurt him like this. Dave knows this too, you realize, and for a moment you can’t breathe with loving him. He trusts you so. You’ve managed, against all odds, to tame this feral, skittish boy. He is Samson, and not only did he allow you to cut his hair but he handed you the scissors.

You remember the conversation the two of you had about this, how his voice trembled and how he told you, “Tavros, I need you to do this for me.”. You were more scared than he was, you think. How were you supposed to feel, though? He wanted you to hurt him. There was a certain thrill, however, to the idea of being in such complete control. You agreed, if only for the way his face went slack with surprise, and then for the way that he smiled, a soft wide grin, the one that makes a strange tender thing curl in your belly.

And now. Now, Dave is stretched out in front of you, a pale streak on the bedspread, rawboned counterpoint of long, pure lines, all yours to have and touch and love and fuck. The thrill is back, roaring in your ears. You run your claws down the thin skin of his sides to watch the skin rise up pink and raw. Look down, see that he’s gotten hard just from your touches. His mammalian bulge is soft and pink as petals, with moisture at the tip like dew. 

“Oh.” You breathe. He gives you a shaky smile, but doesn’t reply. This is as silent as you’ve ever seen him, and it would make you worry were you not faced with concrete evidence of his enjoyment of this. You run a finger up the underside of his cock, just to watch the sweet shudder as it runs through his body. Your own bulge is beginning to stir in your pants. You lean down and kiss him, chaste and light, and he surges forward to meet you like a wave greeting the shore.

“Mn. C’mon, babe.” He murmurs against your lips. “You’re killing me here.” 

“Patience is a virtue.” You remind him, but you give his dick another stroke anyway, and brush the back of your hand over the side of his face, pull his bottom lip out from under his teeth and run your finger over it. He leans into the touch, trusting and tender, and your chest feels too small for the heart inside. He’s so different like this, all laid bare and honest. 

You kiss him again and wait for him to rush up to meet you, before tugging his hair until his mouth goes still. Lean in once more, pull him back again. It doesn’t take long for him to get the message. It isn’t long before his mouth is mellow and yielding beneath your own. You pull away, satisfied, and admire your handiwork. His mouth is red and swollen and his eyes are unfocused, viewed through a shutter of thick white lashes.

“You’re so pretty right now.” You say, before correcting yourself. “Handsome, I mean.” Dave has such a narrow idea of which adjectives are acceptable, but it’s true. Your boy is pretty, with his delicate bones and full lips. Gorgeous, you’d go so far as to say.

You press a small kiss to the triangular hollow between his clavicle and his shoulder, a kiss to one of his nipples, a kiss to the base of his ribcage, all in an effort to express this protective, terrible thing growing inside of you. You want to sink your teeth into him.

Then you realize that nothing is stopping you from doing so. It’s a thought equal parts terrifying and arousing. You test it out by letting your teeth graze his skin, and he gasps. Your head snaps up to get a look at his face. “Was that okay?”

Dave looks down at you, his face pink and his lips parted. He nods.

So you work your way down Dave’s body in a series of nips and bites, tasting blood occasionally gaining confidence with every gasp and ‘ah’ that passes his lips. Your bulge is fully unsheathed now, and your genetic material is soaking through the front of your shorts - you pull away from Dave for a moment to kick them off before leaning back down and rejoining your mouth with his skin.

When you reach his groin, you press a kiss (no teeth) to the head of his cock, but otherwise ignore, instead nosing into the warm, musky spot behind his genetic material retention sacs. He groans above you, frustrated, and you smile against his skin. Sex with Dave is usually a frenetic burst of action, him rutting up against your thigh with his hand on your bulge, but now, now you can stretch every moment out until it’s honey-slow and Dave is trembling.

You spend an indulgent amount of time spreading him open, alternating between your fingers and your tongue. You mouth at him until he’s slick enough to take you, then slip your tongue inside, just the tip - dart out again, repeat the process. With your other hand, you stroke his hips, his belly, wherever you can reach, take him in in greedy gulps and handfuls. You fit a finger in next to your tongue, crook it the way you know he likes. His body sings beneath you, a symphony of tendon and bone. “Tav.” He gasps. “Tav, please, I need it.”

You feel a lurch of desire in the pit of your stomach as how his voice goes high and sweet with need, how it cracks at the end of his sentences and unfurls like a catching flame into the air. You rise above him, marvel at how small he is compared to you. A surge of protectiveness, of adulation at how pleasure transforms him. He should only ever feel this good. 

“Not quite yet.” You murmur, pushing your fingers deeper until your palm is pressed up against his pubic bone. He whines, tosses his head, but doesn’t fight back. As a reward, you bend your fingers inside of him, watch with fascination how it makes him writhe. You go on fingering him for a while, until his keens have gotten so desperate and the throb in your nook so insistent that you can’t leave him waiting any longer.

Two fingers spreading him open to take your bulge, then you’re sliding home in one graceless thrust. Dave’s spine goes rigid, all of his breath leaving in one syllable: ah. You can feel the rings of his muscle contracting around your bulge, can feel his heart beating from the inside. He is still and relaxed underneath you; you stretched him out with enough care that not much would hurt him coming in, and now he’s as placid as calm water. You let your bulge coil and double back on itself inside of him: dropping a pebble in the water and rippling it.“Tav, babe.” He whispers, and you see his hands twitch in their bindings. “I wanna - 

ah.”

“Shh, I’ve got you,” You tell him, hushed like a secret. His adam’s apple trembles.

Your hands are huge compared to his hips, and he squeaks when you cradle them and tug them higher, hook the pits of his knees over your shoulders and bear down on him. Moans helplessly, breath warm and moist on your face.

You twist your bulge purposefully within him, stroking against a spot that you’ve come to understand is his prostate. Your efforts pay off; his spine arches beneath you and his ankles twitch and cross over your back in an attempt to pull you closer still. You can feel his quavering breath through your bulge, so intimate your throat feels tight. Hands bracketing his face, you kiss the moans out of his mouth and whisper sweet, stupid things, quiet so only he can hear them. This time, he doesn’t interrupt you or try to prove you wrong; he lets you press kiss after gentle kiss on his face, lets you shower him in all the affection he thinks he doesn’t deserve. 

When Dave comes, it’s in a blindingly lovely collection of trembling lips and thighs, of fluttering eyelashes and rich feral moans, and an unbearable tightness around your bulge, sending you plummeting down after him. He is a filament in a light-bulb, glowing overbrightly for a shining moment before burning out. 

Your collapse beside him and let your bulge resheathe itself, pulling out of him with an obscene squelch. It’s not your time of season, so you don’t make that much of a mess, but there’s still a generous amount of genetic material painted over Dave’s thighs. There’s a sweet ache in your groin, and you revel in it for a moment before sitting up and unfastening Dave’s hands from the headboard.

“Whew.” He says, dropping his arms to his sides and shaking the feeling back into them. “Thanks, man. That was starting to smart.” He gives you a watery smile, and it’s then that you realize his eyes are moist.

“Oh god.” You bring a hand up to Dave’s face, dab a fingertip under his eye to feel the wetness. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! I mean.” Dave pauses, lifts his hand to cover yours. “Not in any way that I didn’t want. It was just a little, y’know. Intense. That’s all.”

You kiss the corner of his eye and don’t reply. 

Later, after a shower and a quick meal, you’re ready to talk.

“I really felt like hurting you.” You tell Dave quietly. “It was scary.”

“Babe.” Dave says. “We’ve been over this, yeah? Anything you want. I want it too.” He covers one of your hands with his own, absurdly small and fragile on top of your own broad palm. As strong as he’d like to seem, his body betrays him. It would be so easy to go too far with him, to push him until he breaks.

Then there’s a hand on your cheek, turning your head, and pale red eyes on yours. “Tavros.” Dave says. “I trust you.” Which is as close to an ‘I love you’ as you can ever hope to get from him. You feel like crying yourself all of a sudden, so you pull him close and hide your face in his clavicle.

“Thank you.” You say into the curly top of his head. “That means a lot to me.”

You can feel his smile against your neck.


End file.
